Revenge is a Dish Best Served Stone Cold
by j3of25
Summary: Short story in 3 parts: Steve is kidnapped and a badly shaken Jesse is the only witness. STORY COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: (or anecdotes on writing this!) Blame my friend Penny and the strain of keeping Steve healthy for so long in Writer's Block (Penny gave me the opening line when I was discussing a plot idea with her and my muse can't resist opening lines.).So I'm afraid this just had to be written before I could get anywhere with anything else. It is, unusually for me, finished and short (Well short by my standards anyway.) I will, however be posting it in three parts because, as you know, I can't resist cliffhangers.  
  
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fanfiction written purely for pleasure not profit, I'm just borrowing some of the characters for a while and whilst I don't promise not to hurt them (Or in Steve and Jesse's case maybe that should be I promise that I will hurt them.) I'll try and get them back in good order before I return them.  
  
Synopsis: Steve is kidnapped, Jesse is the only witness and he and Mark must put together the clues before it is too late.  
  
Revenge is a Dish Best Served Stone Cold.  
  
------------------------------------------------------  
  
Steve wondered how long it would take him to die.  
  
A strange calm had settled over him replacing the storm of emotion that had assaulted his thoughts only moments earlier. Panic gave way to an unsettling peace as he realised that there could now only be acceptance, his own death was inevitable and he had to deal with that in the time he had left.  
  
--  
  
Mark looked into Jesse's eyes and the depth of despair almost forced the young man to look away, his own fears for his friend's safety, feeding into the empathy he felt with the man who stood in front of him. "We'll find him Mark," he said, forcing a confidence into his voice that he did not feel, maintaining eye contact by sheer strength of will.  
  
Mark's reply was quiet, his voice wavering slightly. "I know we will, but will it be in time?"  
  
--  
  
Steve laughed, the action causing a sharp pain in his side, but he couldn't help it, he laughed again.  
  
'Oh great, now I'm becoming hysterical,' the thought triggered an argument. 'No, but if this wasn't so real, wasn't so deadly, it would be funny, more like a plot from a Bond film than real life.'  
  
The absurdity of the situation gripped him for a moment, in films this sort of situation was set up to give the hero a chance to escape. He thought about that for a long moment, there must be some way. but he had already tried and, even if he thought there was any chance of success, he didn't have the energy to make another attempt. This had been arranged not to allow escape but to make sure he suffered, to make sure he had time to contemplate his own death and to struggle against it, a misguided view of justice driven by hatred and a need for vengence.  
  
He looked around once more and felt the chill of the water penetrating his skin, it had a subtle pink tinge to it, coloured by his blood, for a moment he forgot to kick his legs to keep himself afloat, and his head dipped briefly below the surface, filling his mouth with the taste of chlorine, he kicked hard to push himself back to the surface and then settled his legs back to a more steady rhythm as his pulse and breathing quickened in response. He concentrated for a moment on regaining his equilibrium.  
  
Some maniac was going to succeed in killing him. He laughed again and this time he couldn't put it down to anything but hysteria. The laugh turned to a cough that brought more pain to his injured side and he shivered involuntarily, the water was getting colder as the Winter Sun began to drop down to the horizon, soon there wouldn't even be warmth on his face  
  
--  
  
Captain Newman walked up to the two doctors standing next to Steve's car. It was exactly as it had been found, lying at an odd angle in the ditch, the door open, the side crumpled and bashed where it had clearly been struck and forced off the road. He tried to sound as positive as possible. "OK I've got an APB out on him and the white van, I've also got every man I can going back through Steve's case files to look for anyone who might have a grudge." He followed Mark's gaze to the car. "At least he walked away from the crash."  
  
Mark's expression bore none of its usual warmth and humour, his brow creased with lines of worry and his normally sparkling blue eyes reflected only the fear that he felt for his son's safety. "Dazed and at gun point," he stated, his anguish clear. Who knew what malicious intent the person who took him had?  
  
Newman nodded, tacitly acknowledging that his man, Mark's son, was in real danger, whoever had forced Steve off the road and dragged him from the wreckage had clearly targeted him. It did not bode well, and yet he sought to reassure the older man. There was no reason to assume the worst, at least not yet. "Every cop in the city is looking for him and thanks to Dr. Travis' prompt action we have a real chance of turning something up. We should also get something from forensics on the prints we found."  
  
Mark shook his head. "Whoever took him is going to kill him," he stated with a frightening certainty. "If we don't find him quickly it will be too late."  
  
--  
  
Steve forced his arms and legs to keep moving, every time he forgot or slowed down the swirling kicks that were keeping him afloat, his head dipped below the surface and he had to expend extra energy to push himself back up. Energy that he could ill afford to waste as his system weakened from the cold and the exertion.  
  
He tried to concentrate, to keep a steady rhythm, occasionally he used his right hand to press against the wound on his side to ease the pain a little, but it was a trade off with his sapping reserves of energy as his other limbs were forced to work harder to keep his head above the surface of the water.  
  
He looked, not for the first time, towards the side of the pool, only a few feet away and yet it might as well be a million miles. The chain tugging on his ankle prevented him from reaching it, prevented him from going anywhere, the weight dragging him under the surface if he did not work against it. In the desperate struggle when he had first been left, with the adrenaline of fear and panic heightening his senses and vitalising his actions, he had quickly established that the side was, as he had been told, unreachable, the chain that secured his ankle to the bottom of the pool, immovable. In short he had two choices, tread water or die. No, not quite, he could tread water until he didn't have the energy any longer and then die.  
  
This time the thought of his own inevitable death did not come with calm acceptance, instead a stab of fear and despair returned, he had too much to live for to die like this. Images of all of the things he loved, passed unbidden into his mind and foremost amongst those images were those of his friends and family, his dad, Jesse, Amanda, he didn't want to leave them, not yet, not without a chance to say goodbye. Tears filled his eyes as he mourned the inevitable loss and his despair deepened.  
  
This time he did not realise that his feet had stopped moving, did not acknowledge the water moving over his face as his head sank below the surface.  
  
--  
  
Newman looked towards the younger doctor, who looked pale and a little shaky on his feet, the bandage on his wrist courtesy of the EMTs the only visible sign that he too had been in the car with Steve when it had crashed. He had taken a knock to the side of the head but had refused to go to the hospital to get checked out, insisting that he stay with Mark and give all the help he could. After all he was the only witness. "Is there anything else you can remember," the police Captain asked, "Anything at all that might help?"  
  
Jesse concentrated on his memory once more, "I remember Steve saying something like 'That's strange,' just before the white van pulled alongside and side swiped us. He told me to call it in, that's when I started the 911 call, I'd just about got through the location when the van hit so hard that Steve lost control of the steering. The next thing I remember is the voice shouting at Steve to get out and the gun pressed to his throat. I did my best to get out as well, to try to do something but I couldn't open the door. By the time I made it across the seat, the van was pulling away." He looked up apologetically at Mark, there was nothing new in what he had just said, nothing more that could help them.  
  
"You couldn't see the plates?"  
  
Jesse shook his head. "They were already too far away."  
  
"But you did get a look at the guy's face."  
  
Jesse nodded. "Briefly," he confirmed.  
  
"Enough to identify him?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he said quietly, "but I'll try." His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to picture the face of the man who had taken Steve. "There was." he began hesitantly "There was something familiar about him." He looked up at Mark, "Like I knew him or had seen him somewhere before."  
  
"Where?" Mark asked a hint of desperation in his voice, he grasped at the slight hope that Jesse might be able to give them somewhere to start looking.  
  
Jesse thought about it, trying to link the face to the memory that he knew was there. There was something he knew, something he should remember, something that would help them find Steve. He rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes. He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I know I've seen him I just can't remember where."  
  
Mark looked at his young friend and felt the apology and frustration emanating from him, he was clearly badly shaken from the violent crash and from witnessing his best friend's kidnap and Mark was sure he was putting a brave face on his injuries, his wrist was, at best, badly sprained and he had at least a mild concussion, although it was Steve's side of the car that had been sideswiped, the passenger side had fared far worse as it had hit the ditch. It was a wonder he was standing at all, let alone struggling with his memories.  
  
"It's OK," Mark said, keeping the disappointment and frustration from his voice. Part of him just wanted to scream at Jesse that he had to remember, that Steve's life may depend on it, but he knew that wouldn't help, wouldn't be fair on the young man who was just as worried as he was. "Just take things one step at a time, it will come."  
  
"There's nothing more that we can do here," Newman said, "Why don't I get someone to drive you both to the station, Dr. Travis, you can start looking at the pictures in Steve's case files, it might throw something up, help trigger your memory."  
  
Jesse nodded his agreement, after all standing here wasn't getting them anywhere.  
  
"Mark?"  
  
Mark took a last look at the crumpled car unable to banish the image of his injured son being dragged from it.  
  
"Mark?" Newman asked again.  
  
"Yes," Mark replied quietly, "but I'll take my own car." The need to do something was almost overwhelming, even if that was only driving himself to the station.  
  
--  
  
Instinct forced Steve's legs to kick, forced him to push back to the surface as his lungs screamed for oxygen. Instinct forced him to open his mouth and gasp desperately for breath as his senses refused momentarily to function. His whole world was the gasping pants that drew air into his painfully empty lungs.  
  
Firm hands held him, guided him to the surface, supported him whilst he drew oxygen into his slight frame. He opened his eyes to see the smiling face of his father, the water had darkened his normally sandy coloured hair, his twinkling blue eyes held a hint of concern. "There you are, you're all right," the words of reassurance, spoken in comforting familiar tones, the hands firmly and evenly holding him above the surface of the water. "I thought I told you not to go past the depth where you could stand up." Mark's gentle admonishment, held a slight hint of anger for what might have happened to his young son.  
  
"Sorry dad," Steve whispered and the harsh adult voice did not fit in with the childhood memory. The image of his father's face dissolved, the strong hands that he felt support him disappeared and he looked once more across the cold empty pool. A tear rolled down his cheek, with a curious sense of loss, for just a moment the memory had been so real that he hadn't been alone.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED.. 


	2. Hope and Despair

Part 2 Hope and Despair --  
  
"He said something," Jesse's words broke the silence that had settled in the car, his mind had suddenly flashed back to the crash. "When he was forcing Steve from the car, he said something." His voice held a hint of excitement at the returning memory  
  
Mark tried not to get his hopes up, whatever it was might not help with the identification of his son's abductor. "Can you remember what?"  
  
"Time for." there was a slight pause as the memories slid into place, "Time for the revenge of Tantalus," Jesse replied, as the unusual phrase became a clear echo in his mind. "Tantalus," he repeated the name, his brain trying to make more connections, his brow creasing with the pain of concentrating . Damn this headache wasn't making things any easier. "Something to do with a Greek Myth?" He asked, uncertainly.  
  
Mark was also testing his memory. He thought for a moment. "Yes, Tantalus was a mortal who angered the gods," he replied, dredging up long forgotten facts in an effort to make sense of Jesse's memory. "His crime was to kill his own son and serve him up at a banquet for the gods to eat."  
  
"Nice guy."  
  
"Well the gods got their revenge, they punished him by chaining him up to his neck in water but every time he tried to take a drink the water dropped away so he couldn't reach it. There was also a branch above his head that held fruit but every time he reached for it, the wind blew it out of reach. He's supposed to have been left like that for eternity."  
  
"Equally pleasant," Jesse commented, before trying to apply the information to what he had overheard. "So what does it mean, do you think this guy's gonna chain Steve up without food or water." He finally asked.  
  
Mark shook his head, something told him that would be too slow, there was an immediacy, a violence about the abduction that seemed to preclude anything so subtle besides the man had said the revenge 'of' Tantalus. "No," he said quietly still thoughtful.  
  
Jesse mistook the quietness of the reply for resignation that this new piece of information had brought them no nearer to figuring out who the abductor was, no nearer to finding Steve. "I'm sorry, I guess it doesn't help much."  
  
Mark's mind however was working in overdrive, creating and dismissing ideas until something struck him that 'felt' right. He couldn't explain it, he rarely tried but sometimes his mind just seemed to focus, and somehow, some intuition led to a conclusion. When it happened he was rarely wrong and, with Steve's life on the line, it was never more important that he was right than it was now. "No Jess," he said, hearing the apology in the younger man's tone, "I'm sure it will help. There are several things it tells us. Firstly we're looking for someone who is well educated, I don't think your average street thug would start quoting Greek Mythology, and secondly I'm sure it gives us some idea of the guy's motives." He paused and glanced across at Jesse briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "It suggests to me someone who feels responsible for the death of their son but somehow also wants revenge."  
  
"So we need someone who would blame Steve for the death of their son?" Jesse asked, quickly pulling out his cell phone in response to Mark's affirmative reply. "I'll see if I can get Captain Newman to get someone to concentrate on cases that involved suspects who died.  
  
--  
  
Steve pressed his hand into his side once more, pushing against the ragged wound, forcing it closed, bringing a brief respite from the fire that burned there. It still hurt but it was a different sort of pain, more manageable because he controlled it, could press harder or more softly, could change how it felt. He heard a low moan and although he knew it was his own voice, it sounded detached, distanced. He focused back on the pain for a moment concentrating, analysing it. It was so much easier than any of the other thoughts that vied for his attention.  
  
He had faced death before, looked down the barrel of a gun pointing squarely at his head or his chest, felt the cold trickle of sweat down his spine and held his breath as he'd waited to see if the trigger would be pulled. On more than one occasion, he'd been sure that it would. Then there were the fights, gun battles, car chases, explosions, a myriad of different situations where, if he stopped to think about it, he would be facing his own mortality head on. So he didn't think about it. He reacted rather than considered.  
  
It was only afterwards, in quiet moments when he was alone, that he reflected on the consequences, the effect it might have on those around him, particularly when he was forced to see it through the anguish in his father's eyes, the barely contained mixture of relief that he had survived, and the despair that he had almost lost him again, when things went wrong. The rarely spoken admission of how difficult he would find it to go on if he did lose him. So easy and clear to understand because Steve had felt it himself so many times when his father's sleuthing had put him in danger.  
  
Now he was forced to consider his own death, it was so close, he couldn't fight against it for much longer, the cold was making his muscles tremble. Hot tears ran down his face, contrasting with the cool water just under his chin, but they were not for himself, they were for those he left behind, particularly his father. If only there was someway to leave him a message, to tell him one last time that he loved him, how much his friendship and support had meant to him. His dad knew that though, didn't he? Still there was the desperate urge to put it into words, Damn, why hadn't he been more expressive, more vocal, when he'd had the chance. More tears fell, tears of regret.  
  
At least his dad would still have Jesse and Amanda, they were good friends, they would look after him, be there for him no matter what. He hoped his dad could draw strength from them in their shared grief. For a brief moment he was glad that he was the one who was dying, at least he wouldn't have to face the pain, wouldn't have to try to carry on with a piece of himself missing.  
  
Damn this was too hard. A part of him wanted to just let go, to stop fighting the inevitable but somehow he couldn't do it, not consciously, he had to keep going for as long as he was able. He tilted his head back so that he didn't have to fight as hard against the downward pull to keep his mouth and nose above the surface and tried to ignore the aching in his legs.  
  
--  
  
Jesse disconnected his cell "OK, Newman's going to see what they can come up with, they should have something for us by the time we get to the station," he said, turning to look at his friend but it was clear that Mark's mind was elsewhere. He debated getting the older doctor's attention and repeating his information but decided against it. It could wait and it was just possible that Mark may be able to come up with something, after all Steve frequently shared information about his cases with his father.  
  
Mark continued to surf through his memories, trying to link together anything that might help. Steve had been involved in thousands of cases over the years but ones where there were fatalities amongst the suspects cut the number considerably. Ones where Steve was directly involved in those fatalities were mercifully rare. Although Steve accepted it as part of his job, on the few occasions when he'd been forced to use his gun to take a life, it had always hit him hard. One by one Mark went through the incidents that he could recall, trying to remember the people involved, the names the places, filing them to ask about when he got to the station or dismissing them.  
  
Jesse was startled by the sudden gasp at his side with a simultaneous swerve of the steering wheel that Mark quickly corrected to the tune of blaring horns and an uncomfortable rocking, as the suspension reacted to the sudden directional changes at speed. Bile rose in Jesse's throat as a wave of nausea hit, his body reacting to real and remembered sensations as the movement mirrored that of the crash only a couple of hours earlier. For a moment he was sure that it was going to happen again and he tensed, bracing for another impact. The steering, however, settled and Mark rolled the car to a safe stop on the shoulder.  
  
--  
  
Steve tried to focus his mind on his condition, he knew that exhaustion was getting the better of him, the weight of the chain dragging him under was increasingly difficult to fight against. Pain now throbbed constantly from his right ankle, to add to the sharp ache from his left side, there was no chance of respite, since moving either leg increased the level of pain and he had to keep moving both. He tried to figure how much longer he would be able to stay afloat.  
  
'Afloat,' the word triggered an idea in his pain clouded mind. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it earlier. He berated himself for not having considered the simple survival technique before now, even with the pain and shock he should have thought of it, he just hoped that he wasn't too weak to act.  
  
He began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt but quickly gave up and just ripped them open. Then he set about the painful task of manoevring his left arm out, easing it back until it was free.  
  
Once he had the shirt off he gave himself a moment before, shaping it into a makeshift ball. The ragged hole in the side reduced the amount of material he could use but it would still be better than nothing. Drawing together as much strength as he could he blew and was gratified to see the shirt inflating. He drew in another breath and blew again, this time, however, his lungs protested and he coughed sharply, causing stabs of pain to radiate through his body. He waited for the worst of it to pass and, with a little more caution, resolutely continued to blow air into his newly forming lifeline.  
  
Finally it was as full as he could make it and he held onto it, stopping the motion of his legs completely, he gripped the float against his chest and leant his head back, but his face sank below the surface, he kicked his legs again and pushed his head back up, trying not to give in to the wave of despair that washed over him. He had wanted a break from the pain so much, it somehow seemed doubly hard to move his legs at all.  
  
He held on to his makeshift float and waited for his thoughts to settle, trying to focus on the positives. It wasn't as good as he had hoped but at least now he didn't have to move his arms and he could reduce his leg movement. He had managed to buy himself a little more time.  
  
--  
  
"Mark?" Jesse asked, concern overriding his own discomfort as he turned to face his friend, but Mark did not look distressed, in fact he looked more animated than he had for the last two hours.  
  
As the car came to a standstill, Mark turned. "Do you remember a Jason Kelsey?" He asked.  
  
Jesse searched back through his memory.  
  
Mark continued, not waiting for Jesse to reply, filling in the details of the case. "He was 17 years old and quite brilliant a real child prodigy, already taking his Masters at UCLA."  
  
"And dealing drugs," Jesse filled in as his memory caught up. "Down on the pier wasn't it."  
  
Mark nodded.  
  
"Oh God!!" Jesse exclaimed as the rest of the case details fell into place and he realised why Mark had reacted as he had. "The way the kid died, it fits."  
  
Both men remembered clearly the anguish Steve had gone through at the time. Steve had spotted the young man dealing drugs whilst off duty, and had tried to make an arrest. The kid had pulled a gun and had opened fire. Steve had had no choice with so many innocent civilians around he had had to fire in retaliation, the bullet had hit Kelsey on the left side, but the wound hadn't been fatal. The kid had jumped off the side of the pier in an attempt to escape and had disappeared under the surface. Steve had gone in after him but hadn't been able to find him. Police divers later found the body where he had got caught up in some old mooring chains and had drowned.  
  
Despite the justification for his actions, Steve had blamed himself, the fact that the boy had been so young and had such a promising future had made it doubly hard.  
  
Jesse's memory stirred. Steve had insisted on going to the funeral to pay his respects and Jesse in turn had insisted on accompanying him. Although Steve would never ask, in fact he had tried to make out that he would be fine on his own, Jesse had known that his friend needed the moral support.  
  
Jesse had been grateful that he hadn't listened to Steve's protestations, when Jason's angry father David had made a bee line for them. He had virtually accused Steve of murdering his son, and if Jesse hadn't been there to get between them, he was sure that he would have physically attacked Steve, instead he had angrily demanded that Steve leave and Jesse had had to help his stunned friend to do just that as the angry tirade continued. It had been an ugly scene and had made it harder for Steve to deal with the young man's death. It had been weeks before Steve had managed to put it behind him.  
  
Jesse blanched slightly at the painful memory and his stomach twisted in a knot, as the memory meshed with one from earlier that day. He drew in a sharp breath. "David Kelsey," he turned to look at Mark. "That's it, that's who I saw, that's who took Steve."  
  
"Call Newman," Mark said, pulling out his own cell and hitting the speed dial. He prayed that Amanda was still at the hospital. His prayers were answered "Amanda," he stated without preamble. "I need you to find me an address on a next of kin, David Kelsey, father of a Jason Kelsey who died last year, we think he's the one who took Steve."  
  
Amanda did not need that last part to encourage her into action, just a request from Mark would have been enough but now she willed the computer in front of her to work faster as her fingers flew over the keys.  
  
--  
  
He wanted so much just to fall asleep but knew that there was some reason why he couldn't or was that shouldn't. He was no longer sure. Thinking was becoming difficult, fragmented. He had a vague awareness that his breathing was raspy and that he should feel something about that, but what?  
  
He looked down, it was a mistake, his mouth dipped below the surface as he took a breath. He kicked with his feet to push his head back up as he coughed and spluttered the water out of his lungs, his side exploded in pain at the same time as he felt the chain tug on his right ankle.  
  
Stupid, he was in water, and his ankle was caught on something and he was going to die and it was too damn cold, too damn cold to die.  
  
Wasn't the moon pretty, a full moon tonight, why was he swimming if it was night? It had to be night if the moon was out didn't it?  
  
Maybe he could go to sleep now.  
  
--  
  
It had taken Jesse three attempts to get back in touch with Newman, the first two times the phone had been engaged, by the time he actually made the connection, Mark had an address and was heading for it at speed. Jesse tried his best to stay in his seat but with his injured wrist he could not grip the door handle and slid across the seat each time they rounded a bend.  
  
"No," Jesse answered the police captain's question, "We have an address on Kelsey and we're headed there now."  
  
Newman uttered a curse in exasperation, it had been a forlorn hope that the two doctors would still be on their way to the station. Instead they were heading into a possible confrontation with an armed man who obviously had no fear of the law, after all he had abducted a police officer in broad daylight with the probable intention of killing him. "Tell Dr. Sloan that under no circumstances is he to try anything until the police units get there." He barked the order as though he were speaking to some of his men. He knew that it was unlikely to be followed but he had to try. His tone softened slightly. "I'll get people there as soon as I can, and we'll also check if Kelsey has any other property."  
  
"OK Thanks," Jesse said, hitting the disconnect and bracing for another bend.  
  
--  
  
Steve was barely aware of something gripped in his right hand, wasn't sure why he was holding onto it so tightly that his hand hurt, he let go. His legs and arms were impossibly heavy and yet at the same time he had the sensation of floating. He knew he had to keep them moving but could no longer remember why.  
  
His mouth dipped under the surface as the shirt that was helping him stay afloat began to drift away and he coughed water from his lungs as he pushed himself back up.  
  
Sporadically the pattern continued, he would forget to kick and sink below the surface, only to push himself back up. The quiet of the night air was broken by the spluttering and weak coughs that accompanied his attempts at breathing, each time it would remind him at some level to push that little bit harder, but it was no longer a conscious decision. The combination of pain, exhaustion and cold causing his higher brain functions to shut down. He could no longer fight the confusion, soon even his instinct would not be enough.  
  
--  
  
The car skidded to a halt at the end of the long driveway and Mark had jumped from the passenger seat with a speed and agility that belied his age. Jesse had trouble keeping up with him. He would have tried to deliver Newman's message to wait for back up, but he knew that it would be useless, knew that Mark would ignore it. He had never seen his friend and mentor so tightly focussed and he knew that he would do anything to find Steve, even if that meant placing himself in danger.  
  
Jesse himself was not quite so focussed, recognised the dangers of heading unarmed into a confrontation, and it heightened his anxiety, but there was no way he could stop himself from following Mark's reckless path if there was the slightest chance that by doing so they would rescue Steve.  
  
They passed the white van on the way to the door, if there had been any doubt that they had found the right place it was eradicated by the telltale crushing damage and streaks of silver paint that ran along the side where it had pushed Steve's car off the road. Mark paused only momentarily to look at it and Jesse saw an expression cross Mark's face that he had only seen once before, pure rage.  
  
Mark could not help his reaction, seeing the van was the final straw, he now knew that David Kelsey, had hurt his son, was in all probability planning to kill him, if he hadn't already succeeded in doing so. A red haze settled across his mind and he headed at a half run for the door. It took two attempts, but he kicked in the lock and headed through the dimly lit interior to the only source of light.  
  
As he moved into the sitting room at the back of the house, he saw his target immediately. Kelsey was sitting in a chair, slouched back, staring at the floor, his eyes glazed, a glass of whisky hanging from his hand.  
  
Mark was across the room in four strides. He grabbed the man by the collar and, with a strength that he could not under normal circumstances have displayed, hauled him bodily from the chair. The glass clattered to the floor with a soft thump and the contents pooled on the light wooden surface.  
  
"Where is he," Mark yelled, although his face was mere inches from Kelsey's. "What have you done to him?"  
  
It took David Kelsey a few moments to focus on his change in circumstance. There was a face so close to his that he could feel the hot breath, as the face yelled at him. It took moments more for the words to form in his brain as he processed what he was hearing. "Who?" He asked, his senses dulled by alcohol, and the shock that he had experienced when he had finally allowed his rational mind to process what he was doing, what he had done, in the name of vengeance.  
  
Mark resisted the almost overwhelming urge to place his hands around the man's throat and squeeze. He had to know who Mark was talking about, there was no time for games.  
  
He looked into the eyes of the man he held and the part of his brain that was not clouded by fear and anger recognised the bewilderment on the man's face. He wasn't playing any games, he really was close to falling apart. Mark forced himself to answer his question, it was the only hope he had of getting a response. "Steve Sloan," he said, through partly gritted teeth, "The man you forced off the road and took at gun point. What have you done to him?" He repeated the question. "He's my son, what have you done to him?"  
  
The last comment penetrated and David Kelsey studied closely the face of the man who held him. Deep in his eyes he saw a mirror of the anguish and despair, the deep pain that he felt himself. This was a father searching for a lost son whom he would never find, not alive, he would never see him smile, feel his touch or hear his voice again. The emotion touched the very core of his being and his mind acknowledged that he had caused this pain. He had thought that it would make him feel better, would take away the burning ache in his soul, but it hadn't. All he had accomplished was to condemn another to the same fate. "You're too late," were the last words he managed to articulate before his thoughts imploded and his mind ceased to connect to the outside world.  
  
'You're too late,' each word was like a dagger of despair cutting into Mark's heart, penetrating his soul. No, the anger resurfaced, blazed a path of denial. He wasn't too late, couldn't be too late. "Where is he," his voice burned with fury as he shook the man he held, barely aware of what he was doing.  
  
--  
  
Steve's fight was over, the last bout of coughing too much for his weakened system, his eyes closed, his legs ceased their relentless movement and he slid silently under the water. 


	3. Relief

Part 3 Relief --  
  
Jesse had never seen Mark like this, if he wasn't witnessing it for himself he would never have believed his friend capable of such rage against another. He watched as Mark dragged the man to his feet and tried to get him to tell him what he had done with Steve and knew from the man's changing expression that it was hopeless. David Kelsey wasn't a ruthless killer, he was a college professor, Steve's abduction was part of a mental breakdown that was rapidly coming to a conclusion, the man was falling apart before his eyes. Mark would have spotted it too if he hadn't been so angry.  
  
Jesse's eyes moved frantically around the room looking for anything else that might tell them where he had taken Steve. That was when he noticed the water on the floor, he turned to look at Kelsey and for the first time realised that the man was wearing damp clothing, a towel had fallen to the floor when Mark dragged him to his feet.  
  
Jesse's eyes followed the trail of water to a set of glass doors , beyond which he could just make out in the moonlight the pool beyond.  
  
"Mark," he shouted sharply, intuitively interpreting the clues, "Steve's in the pool," he continued as he set off at a sprint.  
  
It took a moment for the shout to penetrate through the haze, a moment more for him to interpret the words, the sharp movements helping to emphasise the urgency of the comments and then Mark was reacting himself. He dropped Kelsey back onto the chair and set off at a run after Jesse.  
  
Jesse reached the edge of the pool but there was no one in it, for a moment he thought that his intuition had been wrong but then he spotted the grey shadow in the centre. His heart leaped into his throat and he swallowed. Barely acknowledging the near panic the sight brought to his system as the words ' You're too late,' echoed in his mind, he kicked off his shoes and took a running dive into the icy water.  
  
Mark was only a few steps behind and it took him a moment to spot the reason his friend had dived in. When he caught sight of the grey shadow in the water he froze. The strength of negative emotion, momentarily blocking all reason and reaction.  
  
He was barely aware of the figure that appeared at his side and tried to ask him a question as he fought his way back. There was no time for this now. He had to act, had to save his son. He moved to take his shoes off, he needed to follow Jesse. The figure at his side gripped his arm firmly, his words finally penetrating.  
  
"Dr. Sloan," the young police officer asked, recognising Mark from the briefing he'd been given. "What's going on? What is it?"  
  
"Steve," Mark gestured towards the shadow, "He's in there, I have to get him out."  
  
The young officer did not need any prompting. "Let me go," he said firmly, kicking off his own shoes.  
  
Mark nodded, it made more sense, the officer was younger, fitter, he had more chance and that was all that mattered.  
  
The young man dived into the pool and swam strongly for the point where Jesse had already disappeared below the surface.  
  
Jesse grabbed Steve under the arms and kicked strongly, taking a deep gulp of air as soon as he was able. Surprised at how hard he had to kick to get them both to the surface, he pushed the thought aside as he turned all of his attention to the limp figure he held. Steve wasn't breathing, he needed to get him to the side to start CPR. He started to swim that way  
  
He did not get far before he felt himself being yanked back, something was pulling on Steve. At that point the young police officer joined him at his side.  
  
"What's wrong," the officer asked, helping to take some of the weight.  
  
"I need to get him to the side but there's something pulling him back," Jesse said, "He's not breathing," he added, emphasising the urgency of the situation.  
  
The officer nodded, "I'll take a look," he said, kicking under the surface of the water.  
  
Jesse turned Steve and positioned him so that he could check his airway and then assessed his chances of starting CPR whilst still in the water, but it was taking too much effort to just to keep above the surface. As he struggled to support them both, he hoped the officer would be able to free Steve soon, every second counted.  
  
The officer emerged from under the water and took a deep breath before muttering a curse. "He's chained to the bottom of the pool," he stated incredulously, "by his right ankle. He's used a pair of handcuffs so I should be able to get him free." All the time he was speaking he was searching through his pockets to find his key. As soon as he had it, he disappeared below the surface again.  
  
Jesse felt the moment that the chain was released and without waiting for the officer to reemerge, he made a kick for the side.  
  
The wait at the side of the pool seemed like an eternity. Mark watched, a small gasp escaping him as Jesse pulled Steve above the surface. Relief that he had found his son mixed in equal measure with despair that they may be too late, and he said a silent prayer as he watched and waited.  
  
Jesse's pronouncement that Steve was not breathing, opened a chasm of despair in front of him and it took a huge effort of will not to fall into it. There was still some hope, he had to hold on to that, had to believe it. He watched with growing frustration as the two men tried to get Steve to the side, knowing that every second was precious and could literally mean life or death. As Jesse finally moved Steve in his direction he stepped closer to the side, emotion was replaced by the need to do whatever he could to save his son. He knelt reaching out his hand, waiting for that touch that could finally anchor him in either safety or despair.  
  
Mark had been joined by two more uniformed officers, and they helped to lift Steve, gently on to the side, Mark bit back the emotion as he felt the coldness of his son's skin, a small part of his mind reminding him that cold was good in drowning cases, gave them more not less chance of survival. Then he noticed the ragged wound in Steve's side. "Oh God," he whispered and he closed his eyes briefly as the fight for control of his emotions increased. Somehow he managed to suppress them again and refocus, to not do so could mean the loss of any chance they had.  
  
Jesse waited until he was sure that Steve was safely on the side before levering himself out, as he placed his weight on his wrist a spasm of pain shot up his arm but he ignored it, saving Steve's life was his only focus, nothing else mattered.  
  
He quickly moved into position by Steve's head, looking up into Mark's eyes, concerned that he would find it difficult to help with his son's resuscitation, but a momentary eye contact was enough to reassure him. He didn't even bother to speak to Mark as the older doctor began the necessary compressions, he didn't have to, professional communication and trust took over at a subconscious level as the two doctors worked as a team, Jesse blew air into Steve's lungs, quietly encouraging his friend to come back to them, as he waited between breaths.  
  
Another eternity passed and then Steve began to cough, water flooded out of his mouth as his lungs forced it up. Jesse held his own breath as he felt for a pulse, it was there, weak, but it was there.  
  
"Steady Steve," Mark said soothingly, lifting and turning him slightly so that the water did not go straight back into his lungs, as he continued to cough weakly  
  
Jesse couldn't help the smile of relief that touched his lips, "We've got him back," he said breathlessly, "I can feel a pulse, we've got him back."  
  
The relief Mark felt was indescribable, Steve was still alive. It wasn't until that moment that he realised how close he had been to believing that it was all over. He nodded at his young friend, returning the smile, for a moment grateful for this small victory. They had a long way to go, but now at least there was hope.  
  
He looked back down finally able to examine Steve more closely, the wound was clearly from a bullet which had torn through the muscle along the left side of the lower abdomen, the water had washed most of the blood away but there was a fresh trickle indicating that it was still bleeding. Someone handed him a first aid kit and he grabbed some gauze to press firmly against it.  
  
Jesse's examination had continued down Steve's leg and he gasped in horror at the state of Steve's ankle. The pair of handcuffs were still in place. One of them had been secured around the thinnest part of the ankle and forced closed so that it dug into the flesh which was now so badly swollen that it almost obscured the metal of the cuff, the damage caused by the constant movement against the drag of the heavy chain making such a mess that even as an experienced ER doctor, Jesse wasn't sure where to start.  
  
"I'm sorry," the young officer who had been in the pool with Jesse spoke from his side. "I didn't know how to release that one without causing more damage."  
  
Jesse looked up at him, "It's OK," he said, "You did the right thing." Jesse wouldn't have wanted to try to remove it without getting Steve stabilised first.  
  
The next few minutes passed in a blur as the EMTs arrived. Mark fell back, relieved to be able to relinquish Steve's care to them, as the tenuous damn he had built to block the emotions, threatened to spill over. He stood, suddenly needing air, his knees weak as his mind tried to acknowledge how close they had come to failure, trying to ignore his medical knowledge which told him failure was still a very real possibility. He watched Jesse work efficiently with the paramedics, until Steve was as stable as they could get him, before transferring him to a gurney. His temperature, blood pressure and oxygen saturation were all still too low but they had done all they could here, now they needed to get him back to the hospital. He followed as they began to head for the ambulance.  
  
As Steve was wheeled away, Jesse belatedly recognised just how many other people were around him. Police officers and forensics teams had descended on the house and pool. It was as though he had been wearing blinkers to both sight and sound for the past few minutes, his focus on his friend had been so strong . He trailed behind Mark, the headache that had somehow disappeared during the rescue returning with a vengeance, pain accompanying every shout, every flash. The noise, flashing lights and movement assaulted his senses, suddenly reaching overwhelming proportions.  
  
Mark was about to climb into the ambulance when a cry behind him alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. He turned to see that Jesse had sunk down to his knees. For the first time he looked properly at his friend. He was soaked, and deathly pale, the bandage that bound his injured wrist was partly unfurled, the end dragging and the blanket which someone had thought to drape around the young doctor's shoulders had fallen to the ground. Mark moved closer and saw that his friend's eyes were clouded by pain and barely focussed. He knelt, "Jess," he said gently.  
  
Jesse looked up and he forced himself to concentrate. He saw Steve being loaded into the back of the ambulance. "I'm sorry Mark," he said guiltily, "Go, you should be with Steve, I'll be fine. I guess it's just the crash and everything catching up with me."  
  
Mark ignored Jesse's comment, resisting the urge to point out that the 'and everything' involved ignoring his own injuries and diving into freezing water to rescue his son, not to mention that it was his memory that had led them here and he who had figured that Steve was in the pool, without Jesse there was no telling how long he would have taken to reach the same conclusion and then they almost certainly would have been too late, they had come so close anyway. Mark shuddered at the thought. He had no intention of leaving Jesse anywhere. "It's OK," he said reassuringly, "We need to get you to the hospital too, get you checked out." He picked up the blanket and wrapped it around Jesse's shoulders helping him to his feet.  
  
--  
  
Mark sat in the doctor's lounge allowing his mind to drift, as he waited for news. He wasn't entirely sure how he came to be there or who had poured the cup of cold coffee that he held in his hand. His last clear recollection was of helping Jesse into the ambulance, beyond that there were flashes of the journey, Steve's cold, pale, unmoving form, the readouts on the equipment that monitored his heart rate and breathing, the paramedic applying another IV, Jesse sitting slightly dazed next to him, and then he was here. There must have been stages in between, arriving at the hospital, checking that Steve and Jesse were both being taken care of, being asked to go and wait whilst his son was treated. It must have happened but he couldn't recall any of it.  
  
He looked down at the cup and considered drinking but lifting it to his mouth seemed like too much effort. The experiences of the day had drained him physically and emotionally. He stared into the dark liquid not even sure that he had the energy to think.  
  
A gentle hand rested on his, coaxing the cup away, replacing it with a steaming mug of fresh coffee. "Mark," an equally gentle voice said, though it was edged with concern.  
  
Mark looked up into soft brown eyes, realising from her expression that it was not the first time Amanda had spoken to him, but he hadn't heard her.  
  
"Drink this," she continued, "You've been nursing that last cup for over an hour now."  
  
"Thanks," Mark replied, forcing himself to take a sip from the cup. It took all of his attention for a moment, it wasn't until Amanda spoke his name again that he realised that the cup was back on the table and he was once more staring down at it. He looked up and forced his attention back to the room. "Steve?" he asked, his voice a trembling mixture of hope and fear.  
  
There were times when he hated being a doctor, hated knowing the possible prognosis, the list of complications that could arise, he longed for the bliss of ignorance, for the ability to trust in the 'miracles' that doctors could perform. A trust that relatives often afforded him. They did not need to know what could go wrong unless it did, but he did not have that luxury, he knew only too well the complications that could arise from Steve's injuries, the hypothermia, the near drowning. He realised now why he had been blocking out his thoughts, sitting here trying not to think until he knew, until he had some definite news on his son's condition, to block out all of the possible negative outcomes. He held his breath as he waited for her answer.  
  
"He's still in surgery, but he's holding his own," she said, reassuringly, "I went up to check and they have Dr. Rodenski looking at his ankle. Dr. Taylor is going to come straight here when he's finished."  
  
Mark nodded, relaxing slightly, Steve was getting the best possible care and the fact that he had made it this far was encouraging in itself.  
  
"I've just come from Jesse's room," Amanda began.  
  
Mark let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and an exclamation and lowered the cup he had been about to take a drink from. He felt a sudden pang of guilt that he hadn't followed Jesse's care more closely, instead of sitting here he could have been doing something more practical, helping the young doctor.  
  
Dammit he had saved Steve's life, he deserved better than being left alone, and even if he hadn't helped to save Steve, Mark felt a responsibility and a closeness to the young doctor that made him more like family than just a friend and colleague "How is he?"  
  
Amanda noticed the look of guilt as it passed across Mark's face. She rested her hand on his. "He's going to be fine," she started with that reassurance first before continuing with a run down of Jesse's injuries, there was no point in trying to hide anything from Mark, although she knew he had enough to worry about with Steve, since he would no doubt check the young doctors chart as soon as he got the chance. "He's been admitted for observation with a mild concussion, he also has a nice new cast because two of the bones in his wrist were broken and he has severe bruising down his right side and across his chest from the impact and his seatbelt."  
  
Mark stared at her for a moment as the list of injuries sank in, concussion, he had suspected that, but not that the wrist was broken, and he hadn't even considered the bruising, although he'd seen the severity of the crash, he should have suspected. but Jesse had said nothing, hadn't complained, had just continued to help.  
  
Mark stood abruptly, "I have to see him," he said, looking expectantly at her.  
  
Startled by Mark's sudden animation, Amanda nevertheless understood what the expectant expression was for. "Room 312," she supplied, regretting elaborating on Jesse's condition, the last thing Mark needed was more stress after the events of the day, but she really hadn't expected such an extreme reaction, "but why the urgency?" She asked, softly, "He is going to be all right they're just keeping him as a precaution."  
  
Mark let out a sigh. "I know it's just.." He tried to put into words the sudden turmoil of emotion that he felt. He'd been so focussed on finding Steve and grateful for Jesse's help that he hadn't even noticed Jesse's own injuries, hadn't even asked how he was feeling. Jesse had ignored his own discomfort to help find Steve, to help rescue him, he had saved Steve's life. Despite the reasoning in his head Mark found it difficult to articulate his feelings. "I need to apologise," he said, quietly, "he helped me find Steve, helped pull him out of the water and I didn't once." he faltered his voice tailing off.  
  
"It's OK," Amanda said, she stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, as she spoke. "He understands how worried you were about Steve, he was too."  
  
Mark paused for a moment, before looking her in the eye, it was good to have such close friends, ones that you could rely on whatever the crisis. "I still need to see him," he said, knowing that she would understand.  
  
--  
  
Mark pushed the door to Jesse's room. The young doctor, had his eyes closed, his cast resting on top of the covers. Mark had a moment to observe the blue black bruising on his right temple before his friend's eyes opened and a slight smile of recognition touched his features.  
  
"Mark," Jesse said, shifting to a slightly more upright position on the raised bed, "How's Steve?"  
  
Mark almost smiled at the question, if Steve's condition had been more certain, he would have done. Amanda was right, Jesse understood, he understood the close bond between father and son, understood why Mark's focus had been on Steve to the exclusion of all else. He looked affectionately at the young doctor who had become such a large part of both of their lives, as he attempted to answer his question. "He's stable but he's not out of surgery yet."  
  
Jesse nodded, it was the answer he had been expecting, having seen the state of Steve's ankle. That was part of the reason why he had been lying awake instead of sleeping, it was difficult to get the images of the crash, Steve's abduction, and how they had finally found him out of his head. He looked down at the bed as the images returned.  
  
"Jess," Mark said, meaning to apologise for not recognising his injuries, for not insisting that Jesse come to the hospital and get checked out earlier, but they both knew that if he had done that they would not have found Steve alive, meaning to express his gratitude that Jesse had stayed, had helped find and then rescue Steve, but, as the young doctor's eyes met his, only two words came out. "Thank you," he said and knew that he did not have to say more, did not need to explain himself.  
  
Jesse smiled, "He would have done the same for me," he replied, safe in the knowledge that the sentiment was true.  
  
--  
  
Mark was halfway through opening the door to Steve's room when he heard his son's voice and stopped, he didn't mean to eavesdrop but somehow found himself unable to continue in, unable to walk away, Steve was giving his statement to Cheryl, and an irresistible mixture of curiosity and concern kept him listening as Steve described what had happened to him.  
  
Given the traumas that Steve had suffered he hadn't wanted to ask about it too much, knowing that Steve would open up if and when he was ready, but in the last two days as his strength had been returning he hadn't seemed to want to say much about it. Focussing much of his conversation, when he wasn't sleeping, on the skin grafts and physiotherapy that he needed to get his ankle back to fully functioning, and also the seemingly inevitable question about when he would be able to get home, even before he had had the strength to lift his head off the pillow. That more than anything else had provided Mark with the reassurance that Steve would be fine, but Mark had still been curious as to what had happened in the time between Steve's abduction and when they had found him.  
  
"..Once I was out of the car, he stopped and made me put my hands behind my back, he cuffed me and pushed me towards a white van. As we reached it he put a hood of some kind, I think it was a sack, it was rough, over my head. He then pushed me forward so that I fell into the back. He pushed my legs up and I heard the door slamming and then the engine starting, he drove off at a fair speed." Steve paused, he was trying to keep his voice clear and even, he had given enough statements and depositions in his time to know what details were needed, but he was having difficulty separating the emotion from the memories.  
  
The feeling of helplessness that returned now with the memory of sliding around the back of the van was almost overwhelming in its intensity. Steve was used to being in control, used to being able to affect his own destiny. Blind and cuffed, still suffering from the shock of the crash, he hadn't even been able to prevent himself from slamming into the sides as it rounded the bends.  
  
"Steve," Cheryl prompted when the pause became a little too long.  
  
He looked up and met her gaze, used the familiar sight to reassure himself that it was only a memory, he took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing, he hadn't got to the worst part yet. "I'm not sure how long he drove for, it seemed like a long time. When he finally stopped he left me in the van, said he had things to prepare."  
  
He looked down at the bed, the next part was going to be much harder to get through.  
  
"Any idea how long for?" Cheryl asked.  
  
Steve thought about it, he shrugged, "Ten, fifteen minutes maybe, I don't think it was more."  
  
Cheryl nodded, "Then what?"  
  
"He pulled me out and made me walk round to the back of the house, he kept the hood on and I could feel the gun in my side." Steve could feel his heart rate increasing, as he remembered the stumbled journey, could virtually smell the musty material mixed, despite the cold, with his own sweat as adrenaline coursed through his system, increasing the intensity of every sensation, including the fear. "He stopped me and pulled the hood off, stepping back at the same time so that I couldn't try anything. He kept the gun on me, pointing at my chest. There was." Steve's voice trailed off for a moment as a clear image of David Kelsey staring at him formed, when he continued there was a slight shake to his voice that only those who knew him well would pick up on. "There was the strangest expression on his face, like he wasn't really there."  
  
Steve knew that the description was wholly inadequate, he had arrested a lot of people in his time who had been mentally unstable or high on various substances but he had never seen anything like the expression on David Kelsey's face. He knew in that moment that the man intended to kill him, but that that act had no more significance to him than doing the dishes. He was totally detached from the reality of what he was doing and that in itself was more frightening than facing a killer with intent. How did you reason with a man who did not acknowledge what he was doing. Nonetheless, Steve had tried.  
  
"I tried to talk to him, I asked him what he was doing, tried to get him to talk to me, but he ignored me, he just spoke to himself as though I wasn't there."  
  
"Do you remember what he said?" Cheryl asked, scrutinising her partner, he had asked her to come and take his statement but she was beginning to wonder if he'd really been ready to relive it all again.  
  
"He just kept muttering that it had to be right, all the details had to be right and then." again Steve's voice trailed off.  
  
"Steve?" Cheryl prompted.  
  
He looked up at her and shook his head slightly to clear it. "And then he shot me," he stated quietly. He drew in a deep breath and Cheryl noted that he was considerably paler than when they had started.  
  
"Do you remember what happened next?"  
  
Steve nodded and continued, his voice still quiet. "I fell backwards, I don't really remember hitting the ground, or Kelsey coming over to me but he must have done because my hands were free, I was holding my side, so he must have undone the cuffs and." he looked down at his ankle, remembering the second source of pain when the cuffs cut into his leg.  
  
"Steve?" This time there was no immediate response, Steve was staring at his still heavily bandaged ankle. "Steve?" She tried a little louder. He turned to look at her and she saw a momentary confusion on his face as he tried to remember why she was there. Then his expression cleared.  
  
"Sorry I drifted off for a moment, where were we?"  
  
Cheryl looked critically at him. "Look Steve there's no rush for this, given Kelsey's mental state, it's unlikely this will ever go to trial, why don't I come back tomorrow."  
  
"No," the interruption was sharper than he'd intended but he really didn't want to have to go through this more than once, "I'm fine let's just get this over with."  
  
"OK," Cheryl replied, "What happened after he shot you?"  
  
"He put one of the cuffs around my ankle and then the next thing I remember is the water hitting my face and going under. I kicked my way back to the surface but it was all I could do to get a breath before I was pulled under again. I thought I was going to drown there and then, but I eventually managed to surface and tread water." Steve swallowed against the bubbling fear that the memory was forcing to the surface. "Kelsey was back on the side by then looking down at me. He told me about the chain that would stop me from reaching the side and then.and then he left me to drown." Steve did not mention the almost total panic that had gripped him as Kelsey had walked away, the pain and shock had weakened his defences and the fear of dying slowly, of dying alone had taken hold. He had tried to pull against the chain, had ignored the pain to swim down to see if there was any way it would come free but had quickly confirmed there was no escape. He couldn't put any of that into words, couldn't possibly explain his emotions as he'd tried to stay alive. "I had to tread water to stay above the surface, so I did for as long as I could." He rested his head back on the pillow with a slight sigh that he had made it to the end, at least the end of what he was prepared to tell. "You'll have to ask my dad and Jesse about the rest."  
  
Cheryl smiled at her partner, "I've already got both of their statements." She stood, wary of how tired Steve was looking. "You get some rest, I'll get this typed up and bring it by tomorrow for you to sign."  
  
Steve smiled back, "Hey do you think we can make this a regular thing. You doing all of the paperwork for me."  
  
Cheryl's grin widened. "Nope, this service is strictly limited to occasions when you are kidnapped at gunpoint," she stated, as she moved towards the door "and when you're out of here I'll expect a plate of ribs in lieu of payment. Now, get yourself some sleep Sloan, I'd quite like my partner back in the not too distant future," she added, and with a last smile moved out into the hall.  
  
"Dr. Sloan," she said, as she almost tripped over Mark on leaving the room.  
  
"Hi," Mark replied, a slightly guilty expression on his face.  
  
It did not take Cheryl's detective skills to figure out that he had been listening, "You heard Steve's statement huh?"  
  
Mark nodded, he had heard every word and he was having a difficult time dealing with the emotions that it invoked. The image of his son chained to the bottom of the pool, injured and alone, waiting to die, was more than he could bear and he had to suppress it. Had to remind himself that Steve had survived and was going to be fine. It would take time but he would make a full recovery. It took him a moment to realise that Cheryl was speaking again.  
  
"Even without it we have enough forensics evidence to convict Professor Kelsey several times over. Not, as I said to Steve, that I think that this will ever make it to trial. The hospital shrink says he's in a severe dissociative state, unlikely to recover." She paused looking back at Steve's door. "I'm just glad Steve's going to be all right, thanks to you and Dr. Travis." She looked Mark directly in the eye. "It was too close," she said, her eyes welled with unshed tears, betraying the emotion that she had been controlling for Steve's sake.  
  
Mark put his hand on her shoulder for a moment and gave a gentle squeeze. "Yes it was," he replied softly.  
  
"Well forgive me," she said, holding up her notepad, "I'd better get this back to the station."  
  
Mark watched her leave. It was good to know that his son worked with people who cared so much about him. He waited until she was out of sight before pushing Steve's door open.  
  
Steve was staring at the far wall, still trying to sort through the emotional responses that were so closely tied to his memories. He didn't look up until Mark was next to the bed. "You heard it all." It was a statement not a question.  
  
"I'm sorry I." Mark started to apologise.  
  
"No, it's OK," Steve interrupted, "I knew you were curious. I'm glad you know." He looked down at the blanket.  
  
"Do you want to talk some more about it?"  
  
"Yes. No.It's just.." Steve faltered. Damn, there were so many things he wanted to say. Things he thought that he'd never have the opportunity to say again and here he was, with the chance to open up and now he couldn't find the words. The emotions were so strong they built a lump in his throat and robbed his mouth of it's moisture. He swallowed. "I really thought that I was going to.." Die, his mind screamed at him, you thought you were going to die, why can't you just say it? The word wouldn't form, so he decided to try to press on. "I don't think I've ever been that afraid, I thought I'd never see you again. I didn't want. without telling you." . Still the important words wouldn't form, wouldn't leave his lips.  
  
Mark sat on the edge of the bed and rested both hands on his son's shoulders and gave a slight squeeze. "It's OK son, you don't have to say it. I already know." It was there in his eyes, in his expression, in their every shared interaction, Mark knew that Steve loved and respected him and it had given him strength on more than one occasion. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered once again how near he had been to losing that, Cheryl had been right, it had been far too close.  
  
Steve cursed the reserved part of him that somehow wouldn't allow him to articulate his feelings. He leant back into the pillows and felt his eyelids start to droop, it had been an exhausting afternoon.  
  
"I'll let you get some rest," Mark said, standing.  
  
Steve nodded, his mind already beginning to surrender to sleep, "Mm hm," he muttered shifting slightly, his eyes closing. Mark was already moving away when a sleepy voice called to him, "Dad,"  
  
Mark turned, Steve's eyes were still closed but the next three words were clear. "I love you." Somehow as his mind surrendered to sleep, the inhibitions that stopped him from uttering the sentiments were stripped away.  
  
Mark felt the tear tracks form on his cheeks as flashes of memories returned, Steve had never expressed his feelings well, but, from early childhood, in those few moments before he'd drifted off to sleep was always when he had told him that he loved him.  
  
"I love you too son," Mark replied softly, as he always had, "I love you too." The repeat was for himself, Steve was already asleep.  
  
--  
  
"So are you going to help me clear up or are you going to just sit and watch." Steve said as he began to pick up plates from the counter. This was Steve's first night back at Bob's and he had let the rest of the staff go early in gratitude for them covering his shifts for him whilst he had been laid up.  
  
Jesse sighed and stood. "Well since you let everyone else go home I guess I'm helping."  
  
They worked in silence for a few minutes. Jesse watched his friend, critically, he was still limping, the damage to his ankle was going to take a while to repair but apart from that he seemed fine, at least physically. Jesse couldn't help feeling that there was some tension between them, but was unsure what it was or what he could do about it.  
  
"Jess," Steve said, pausing from his task and waiting until his friend gave him his full attention. "There's been something I've been meaning to say ever since.I should have said something sooner I was just waiting for the right occasion, except it never seemed to come up," Steve was aware that he was beginning to ramble, he took a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thanks for pulling me out, for saving my life."  
  
The sincerity and emotion behind the comment was out of the blue and it took Jesse a moment to process. So that was what had been bothering his friend, he had been trying to work out a way to thank him, not that it was necessary. "Hey, it's no big deal," he replied, touched by the sentiment but not entirely comfortable with the emotions it forced to the surface. His face broke into a wide grin as he deliberately lightened the tone. "I knew watching all of those episodes of 'Baywatch,' would come in handy one day."  
  
Steve smiled back. "I suppose you watched them purely for medical research."  
  
"Absolutely," Jesse replied heading for the kitchen.  
  
They carried on working in companionable silence for a few more minutes. "Hey," Jesse said as an idea occurred to him, "I've got an idea as to how you can repay me for saving you."  
  
Steve looked across at him, "Jess I could never repay." he began seriously.  
  
Jesse's grin widened, attempting to convey to his friend that his 'idea' was not entirely serious, "Hear me out," he interrupted, "All I want you to do is next time I'm trying to impress Lucy.."  
  
"She's the EMT you've been trying to get a date with for the last three months?" Steve returned the grin, as he realised his friend was about to embark on a round of friendly banter, something he had sorely missed whilst he had been recuperating, trying to get back to full fitness, he was almost there apart from a slight limp, but it had been hard work and he had missed this.  
  
Jesse nodded smiling, "That's the one. If you could be there and just happen to mention my heroic rescue.."  
  
"Heroic?" Steve questioned, raising his eyebrow.  
  
Jesse ignored him. "Where despite my broken arm."  
  
".wrist!"  
  
"And concussion."  
  
".mild.."  
  
"I single handedly.."  
  
"Apart from officer Hanlon, and half a dozen others."  
  
"Pulled you from the raging ocean."  
  
"It was a swimming pool!"  
  
"And saved your life."  
  
Steve looked at him, "Well the last part is true."  
  
"Hey," Jesse said, "what's wrong with a little embellishment." He grinned again, it was so good to see his friend smiling  
  
Steve grinned back, "OK but I think you're going a bit far with the raging ocean thing."  
  
--  
  
Fin  
  
Author's note:- OK that was a deliberate challenge to myself to write a short (well compared to my others,) story. Please let me know how you think I did with it, and, once again, thank you for your reviews and your support. Every one is gratefully received. 


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